Cuckoo
by mosylu
Summary: Joan's getting pretty sick of Kevin's constant crazy jokes. What she doesn't realize is that he's just doing his job. Oneshot, complete


(A/N) No God in this, folks. Just a little Joan-and-Kevin. It takes place about the time of the Season 2 premiere, or maybe a little after.

Cuckoo

"You know," Joan grunted, struggling with three grocery bags and a case of Pepsi, "you could help or something."

Kevin grabbed the edge of the cart. "Look, I'm stopping it from rolling away."

"Woop-de-doo. That must be so hard in a _totally flat_ parking lot."

Her brother put on an injured face. "What, you want me to find all those groceries and pay for them _and_ help you put them in the car? You must be crazy!"

"Ha-ha-frickin-ha."

For the fiftieth time, Joan asked herself why Kevin was being so _mean._ He kept rubbing it in. Cuckoo sister, look how nuts you are . . .

Of course, it was weirdly comforting, too. Nobody else would talk about it (except Friedman, and he didn't count, because Friedman never counted). Like the elephant in the living room that everybody saw but nobody wanted to mention, except Kevin.

Hefting another sack of groceries, she stole a look at the aluminium-rubber-and-vinyl contraption that was her brother's cage and freedom in one. Maybe he understood about elephants in the living room.

She still wished he would just shut up about hers, though.

With a grunt, she heaved the last bag into the trunk and slammed it shut. "There. We're officially provisionated for the next two days."

"Cool." Kevin shoved the emptied cart away, sending it drifting across the cement. A horn honked as someone almost ran it over, but he ignored that. "Let's get home, I'm starving. Or, wait, could you open up the trunk again and get that box of Ring-Dings?"

Joan sneered. "Dream on. Those are mine."

A voice rang out across the parking lot. "Hey, Joan!"

She groaned. Not . . . "Friedman," she said, turning. "What do you want?"

He gave her an innocent look. "I was really hoping to run into you."

Joan narrowed her eyes. Friedman wanting to run into her was just not good. Anything having to do with Friedman was not good at all. She waited, tapping her foot.

"I just wanted to make _really_ sure you took your cuckoo meds today."

Joan started to yell, "_Shut_ it, Friedman!" but Kevin was faster. With a couple of flicks of the wrist, he rammed the younger boy in the small of the back with his chair, sending him flying.

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry," Kevin said, in a loud, false voice. "I just lost control of my chair there."

"Jeez, dude. Watch it." Friedman studied him. "Aren't you Joan's brother? The other one?"

"That's right. The one in the wheelchair." Kevin gave him a shark smile. "I'm also the one gets to beat up all the assholes who call her names. Like this." He swung himself around and ran over Friedman's toes.

"OW! What was that for?"

"Did I not get through? Wait, I'll do it again." He did.

"OW!" Friedman squealed again. "You--"

"Watch your mouth, needledick," Kevin said, and rolled over his toes again on the way to the driver's side.

By the time they were pulling out of the space, Friedman had recovered a little. "Are all you Girardis nuts, or what?" he yelled.

Kevin braked with a screech, stuck his head out the open window, and studied Friedman. "Dude, you did not just say that when I've got a entire steel car at my command instead of just an aluminium wheelchair."

Friedman actually went sort of pale, and held up his hands. "Nope. Nope. Didn't say a thing."

"Good." Kevin pulled his head back in and drove away.

Joan sat staring at him all the way out to the street.

"What?"

"Oh, good, you can still talk in words. I was expecting, 'Ugh. Me Kev. Ugh. Me beat people.'"

"He called you crazy!"

"Excuse me, genius, so did you."

"I'm your brother."

"And . . ." she prompted.

"And what? I'm your brother. He's not."

"So--what? You're allowed because we share chromosomes or something?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"And also to beat the crap out of other people for doing the exact thing?"

"Duh. Way to be grateful, Joan."

"I am grateful," she assured him. "I got to see Friedman run over. I mean, it wasn't by a leaking garbage truck, but I'll take what I can get."

"I live to serve," Kevin intoned.

At the first red light, she leaned over and smacked the back of his head. He hadn't been expecting it, and his nose all but bounced off the steering wheel. "Hey!"

"That was for earlier," she said, settling back with a grin.

"I just rolled over a guy's toes for calling you crazy, you know. Three times."

"I know. Thanks. And I just smacked some guy for calling me crazy."

"You are so _psycho."_

She smacked him again.

"Jeez!"

"Green," she said, and turned on the radio, twiddling the dial until she found something she liked. "Crazy," she crooned. "I go crazy . . ."

"Hey, no karaoke in my car!"

"Make me, Wheelie."

They bickered all the way home.

FINIS


End file.
